


Transit Umbra, Lux Permanet

by Aloice



Category: Final Fantasy XIII Series
Genre: AU Heavy, F/M, Gen, self-indulgent stuff so don't expect quality, tags to be added when they become relevant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2019-02-05 17:12:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12798759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aloice/pseuds/Aloice
Summary: Hoperai prompt fill and drabble dump. Probably on the sillier/more self-indulgent AU side of things.The first two drabbles here were written as prompt fills for tumblr user RainbowSerenity.





	1. Through the Bottom of the Glass

**I.**

The first time it happened, it was an accident.

They were in this weird kind of party that Fang insisted that they go to, Sazh had been seriously told by a teenager Dajh that he should go hook up because that's what Dajh expected of him, Noel was too curious about actual contemporary drinks and Serah/Yeul just wanted to see him drunk, Snow and Vanille were terrible human beings at suggesting terrible drinking games, and Hope was absolutely too worn out from his day's work to put up any reliable counter-stupidness rhetoric - basically a bunch of really dumb things happened and before she knew it someone (Serah?) had shoved her onto the dance floor and there were voices calling for people to kiss the person right next to them, like _really_ kiss them, show them your true colors and the full curve of your lips and all that stuff. She groaned in exasperation. She wasn't against kisses or even kisses in dumb situations, but the sincerity the radio was calling for was getting on her nerves. People couldn't just _get_ sincere kisses from Claire Farron. _She_ didn't even know what a sincere kiss from her would be like. She was technically only twenty-one, after all. In some parts of the world she'd only be _starting_ to drink.

She meant to get out of the dance floor or maybe shove someone away or... she forgot, because someone had pressed their face against hers and it felt strangely _nice_ , that kiss. It was deep and sincere but terribly non-invasive. The figure in the darkness was holding back, seemingly as ambivalent about the sincere kiss idea as she was - but the force against her lips and body felt _right_ and they _tasted_ good and it was almost as if they knew she didn't want anything more. It was the only possible thing that could have made her want more, want to see who they were and why they had kissed her in this way, yet -

A wave of dancers crashed right into them and the mysterious kisser was gone, just like that.

Claire didn't learn until much, _much_ later that said crash had given Hope a migraine for the rest of the weekend.

 

**II.**

The second time it happened, her defenses were crumbling.

She had been drinking furtively in a bar to a mix of melancholy and angry songs, making shitty cocktails and threatening to toss the owner's ridiculously fat but noisy dog across the town (she couldn't help it, he was white and red-nosed and looked just too much like Mog when she was drunk). Serah had been sending her anxious text messages, concerned where her older sister had gone without leaving much of a note. Snow and Sazh were probably looking for her in town as far as she knew. She didn't really care.

She supposed it was always going to happen, this terrible disorientation at having to - somehow _integrate_ into a functioning world again, after Etro knows how long of serving in Valhalla and then thirteen days of serving Bhunivelze across Nova Chrysalia. She could still fight almost as well as she used to, but her finer, terribly anxious reflexes had effects on people. She couldn't really practice fighting with anyone - or, she guessed, actually fight anyone - without somehow scaring the living daylight out of them, and it just reminded her all over again how she wasn't and possibly could never really be normal.

 _You know you're not the only one_ , a voice in her head scolded as she mindlessly stirred the drink in front of her. _You know Serah and Yeul still see things, sometimes. You're just pitying yourself and being irresponsible. Closing yourself off again. Don't you remember the last time something like this happened?_

She grimaced. Could she still send a text to Serah without embarrassing herself to Cocoon and back? What would she even say? It was getting too late. The drowsiness paralyzed her arms and head. She wanted to put her head on the table, just let it all pass. Surely they wouldn't throw her out...

" _L- Claire-san?_ "

 _Oh_. She pretended she had straight up passed out. That voice was from someone she hadn't even really been brave enough to think about.

"Claire-san?" The voice was growing more alarmed now. He approached her, then called back. "How long has she been here? Is she okay?"

He picked her up with some difficulty - he was still so lean, he never ate enough, Serah and Noel kept yelling at him for it - but being in his arms reminded her of that time in the middle of absolutely _nothing_ and she wanted to cry. She hadn't understood what she felt _then_ , and she didn't understand what she felt _now_. It had meant everything to her that he had come for her, but what was the feeling, really...

"Hope?"

"Oh, you're still awake!" The relief in his voice was astounding. He cradled her like a princess and if she was sober she'd be squirming while redder than Serah's newest lipstick. "I was worried..."

Ugh. Was worrying people all she was good for nowadays? "Kiss me," she blurted impulsively, emboldened by all the alcohol in her system. _I'm going to be so ashamed of myself tomorrow._

She couldn't see his face in the darkness - the things she would have given to see it and for his whole frame to stop spinning around in her drunkenness - but she did feel him almost drop her in surprise, and then a silence that stretched for just a few seconds too long for her liking. "... Claire-san?"

"Please," she groaned, "Call me Claire... or Light."

She could _feel_ him purse his lips. "I... wouldn't do that, Light. You've quite obviously drunk a few shots, and - "

She pulled him towards her anyway and realized two things; one, that she had kissed him before; two, that although she initiated this kiss, he kissed back deeper than he had the first time. There was some kind of... longing in the tension of his face that made her head flare as if on fire. She needed to know more about it. And what was the other thing? Why did he kiss her like he knew _exactly_ how to kiss her?

Damn it, she really only made the problem even more complicated for herself by attempting to somehow solve the problem.

"Light!" The silver-haired man pulled back, anxious and chastising. "Don't... do that." His hold on her grew tighter, more stiff. She was reminded again that he was twenty-seven years old - their age gap had basically reversed. _Oh, no, he probably has found someone else by now. He's always been better at dealing with his problems. Even in the Ark -_

"Let's get you home." The declaration is a bit too fast, and she thinks (in this daze, please don't let her throw up on his jacket, where would all the dignity she has built up in 1000 years even go after that) she likes it.

 

**III.**

The third time it happens she's staying over at his place and the whole thing reeks of being consensual.

"I think I am a little drunk," she announces, closing his door behind her and sticking her neck towards the inside of the house in his general direction. "They were celebrating Amodar's promotion... again."

"Promotion banquets." She hears him from his room. It sounds like he'd just gotten back home as well. "Is that all this world's good for? I had one, too. Alyssa poured me too many glasses, as usual."

"Are you sure those are safe?" She complains, awkwardly stepping into her slippers and stumbling towards him. He's changing out of whatever he had worn to his banquet and his hair's just a bit disheveled and she _wants_ him, wants to reach for his pulse and his frame and just know that he's there and he's safe. Or she also wants him to hold her hand and keep _her_ wanted and safe. But that's just an afterthought.

"Oh, yeah," he answers absent-mindedly, pointing at the bed right behind him, "why don't you just crash here for a bit? You look spent, and they still haven't finished whatever they're doing in your room, so..."

She likes that he's calling his guest room her room. Statistically speaking, she's the one using it like 90% of the time, but she'd like to think it goes beyond just statistics. His bed is nice, anyway. It's always well-kept and soft and it feels like him and _oh god what is she thinking_. She falls on top of it, stretches just a few degrees. "You look like you can use a crash, too."

They agree to just both take a nap and then somewhere into the nap they've held hands and wrapped themselves around each other and kissed again. She convinces herself that it's just some variation of friends with benefits. Or partners with benefits. Or whatever it is. Whatever it is, it feels nice. And she wants more of it. And if Hope's being as willing as he is (she's pretty sure he reached for her first this time, poked her and then threaded his fingers and then she doesn't remember) it must be okay for them to do it...

 

**IV.**

"Lightning," Fang says, flanked by a totally blushing Vanille behind her back, "we need to talk."

"What?" she's still annoyed that Fang _refuses_ to call her Claire. The self-proclaimed old hag will always be a pain when it comes to her old friends. "Don't tell me - "

"You need to admit that you and Hope are dating," Vanille chimes, all serious and with her fingers crossed in that Pulse sign of hers, "sooo that you can move onto the next step."

"For the love of everything - we're _not_ dating - "

"Yeah? And now you don't even hide it anymore, if we give you two just one shot each you'll make out right in front of us." Fang's tone is derisive. "You Cocoon people and your shame."

"We - "

"And you can't tell me you've always enjoyed drinking so much. Come on, girlfriend, you're trying to hide something."

"Light-san?" A familiar voice echoes overhead and Claire facepalms as she notes the two Pulse women's understanding smiles. "Are you there?"

"Maybe we should talk to Hope too," Fang says slowly, turning towards Vanille who is nodding furiously, "so he realizes what he's doing. Trying to score someone all those years younger than him - "

Claire barely notices it as she aims a fist towards the empty space two inches to the right of the brunette's face.

 

**V.**

_Maybe they do have a point_ , Claire concedes a few weeks later, as Hope leans in to kiss her on one glass of Bourbon and she's (quite effortlessly) balancing her own glass of sherry, _and alcohol is expensive_.

"Have you tried skipping your drink?" She tries, holding up her glass between them. It's almost empty. His smile nearly freezes on his face before he tilts his head and answers.

"It's a good habit, don't you think? And it's just one glass every once in a while. Studies say it's supposed to be good for your metabolism. I suppose I can look into it a bit more, try - "

"Ah, I know. Alyssa told me about this new public health campaign that your institution is doing. I remotely remember something along the lines of the _best drink for the soul is water_."

She thinks she can feel him blink as he assesses the situation. She turns her gaze towards him, unfaltering. He stares for a few seconds, then smiles.

"Well, are you planning to drop the drink?" He asks conversationally, raising a hand in an offer to take her glass. She thinks there's a glint of something in his eyes - a wish? Fear? Whatever it is, it also has hope in it. And she's not going to let him down. Not in a moment like this. Not when she...

Okay, _loves_ him so much. She doesn't care anymore why exactly she loves his embraces and his kisses and just being around him all the time. It doesn't matter. It just matters that she wants more of it and they shouldn't have to hide behind a layer of glass and spirited water to do it. He deserves more than that. And perhaps she does, too. She'll convince herself someday.

"Yeah," she agrees, and buries her head on his shoulder. He hesitates - and then puts an arm around her shoulder, pulling her close. Their breaths are warm on each other's faces. "How about we try tomorrow?"

"What are we even going to do with the leftovers?"

"We invite Snow and the girls," she whispers, and she _knows_ his lips are also curving up in a grin, "and we don't let them go until they're done with the whole stash."


	2. With Guns and Roses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on some Asian live-action dating shows, specifically the Chinese one where the male contestant showcases videos of himself and his life in front of like... 20 female contestants and hope that some of them will have mercy on him. Each girl has a light. The light being turned off means a no, while a light being smashed means a definite yes (or #dramatic effect).
> 
> But honestly I just wanted Hope and Lightning to shoot things together and for it to be super awkward

**> Lightning: be bored.**

"Why did you reject contestant number 3, Miss Farron?" The host asks, all smiles on his face and gesturing with his mic, no doubt hoping for another controversial comment from her.

"He won't last two seconds against a proto behemoth," she responds, rolling her eyes at the camera because she _knows_ everyone is watching at home, "I'd sooner not have that kind of burden in my life."

A few gasps in the crowd. The man looks just the right amount of wounded. She shifts her weight impatiently at her stand, glimpsing a sign in the crowd - does it say something along the lines of GO LIGHTNING FARRON, THE ICE QUEEN OF MY HEART? She won't be surprised. Her crudeness has made her surprisingly popular, and Serah gushes constantly about the amount of fanmail she receives (and reads) on the behalf of her sister. Lightning doesn't have the time for that kind of thing. Lightning would sooner not be here at all. Lightning's only here because she lost a bet to Fang and she was getting a bit tired of Snow and Serah pestering her about her single status like five times every day.

 _I'm pretty sure the kind of man I'm interested in won't be into these kinds of shows anyway_ , she thinks to herself, sullen, as the rejected man bows to the women and walks off the stage. _I know I hate these kinds of things. It's people like Serah and Vanille who worship them like religion._

"Let's welcome our next contestant! Mr. Estheim, director of Academy Research, team alpha. 24. Born and raised in Palumpolum."

 _Oh no, another boring one_ , she groans internally, balancing her weight awkwardly in her flowing rose dress. She hates wearing dresses for these shows, too. If only -

"Mr. Estheim!"

"Wait, is this _the_ Hope Estheim?"

"Wasn't he rumored to be in a relationship with the daughter of the Primarch?"

Lightning perks up ever so slightly. _So he's famous._

"Thank you for the introduction, Mr. Meng," the man responds politely after the crowd has died down - his voice is strangely familiar somehow - and when he performs the customary preliminary scan of all the female contestants, Lightning notices that his gaze lingers on her for a second more than everyone else. _Long enough for me to notice, but not anyone else. And he knows I only noticed because I've been trained in the Corps with minute reactions and quick assessments._

What has been his eye color? Green? Serah used to tease her about green-eyed boys when they were younger. Not that she hasn't passed up plenty of them on this show.

"Let's see the first segment," the host announces, and Hope Estheim settles comfortably into his chair, seemingly completely unfazed by the stage. A few contestants have already declared for him.

The figure of the silver-haired man glides onto the screen, surrounded by a line of scientists and marching machines.

"I am a scientist. I have been fascinated by machinery and the inner workings of the world since a very young age, and I find it awarding to improve people's lives through inventing new tools, structures, and ways of thinking. I was behind the overhaul of Eden's transport system and also oversaw the construction of the new Academy headquarters."

 _Respectable_ , Lightning muses, remembering the terrible traffic jams that used to plague Eden. _But still boring._

"Lately I've been working on a prototype for a brand new Guardian Corps gunblade." All eyes zoom to her, including the stage lights; she blinks, turns to Hope Estheim - and sees him sitting as calmly as ever in his seat, although there's a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Automatic target selection, the highest grades of precision and accuracy, as well as being foolproof - it will allow someone as inexperienced as me to match a veteran like Contestant Farron."

"Well, Mr. Estheim," the host takes his cue on a silver platter and turns to Estheim, "This is certainly a new development. Will we get to see you make a case for your claim, here on our show?"

She smashes her light. Estheim's smug confidence is ticking her off. Who is he to challenge her? Plenty of men have thought themselves capable of taking her down a notch, put her into her place. This of all places is not where she'll back down. "No one can beat me," she hisses, "scientific cheats or no."

"I do not speak of _beat_ ," Estheim corrects, and suddenly his face is so soft that it catches her off guard, "I speak of _match_. But yes, sir, I would like to demonstrate the effectiveness of my invention. I have brought my prototype with me to the show today."

The host smiles. "And we have brought you your gunblade, Miss Farron, just for this special occasion."

She grits her teeth as she walks forward. Estheim doesn't look like a marksman - he's too lean, too too polished, too pretty along the edges. She wonders if he's ever seen real battle, felt anyone's soul depart from under his hands. He's always had it easy. One real obstacle and he will crumble. She raises her arm to aim, almost tempted to shoot the pillar next to him so as to get that stupid smile off of his face.

He isn't smiling. His face is somber instead as he raises an opposing arm, a strength in his eyes that makes her blink in surprise. He knows, she realizes, and he's practiced with this, too. "I lost my mother when I was fourteen," he says evenly, to her and to her alone. "I've been looking for things worth protecting."

She shoots to get the significance of his words out of her head. He shoots right after her.

The crowd is silent. She doesn't look up. For the first time in her life, she's afraid of having been defeated.

"Two 9.9s," the host announces, and there's something resembling victory in the elderly man's eyes. Ah, yes, the ratings. "A perfect match."

She can feel Estheim's gaze on her. She's failed her shot - she usually scores above a 10.5 - and she knows he's capable of more than that, a 11 if he wanted. Perhaps a 11 even if he's shooting with a normal gunblade. But he's pulled back, chosen to match her instead. Why?

"I quit this show," she blurts out, sheathing her blade and walking off the stage. In the shock that follows, no one chases after her.

 

"You were too harsh on Hope Estheim," Serah admonishes, shoving a plate of fruit into her face. "It's dead obvious that he's head over heels over you."

"Well, I don't care," she spits, crossing her arms together behind her back. It's not completely true. She'd caught a glimpse of his face as she walked off and there had been a deep sadness there, a loneliness that hurt her where no previous male contestant had hurt her before. "He can sleep with his pile of guns and machines."

The doorbell rings.

"You don't have to - ah." Serah's annoyed voice suddenly stops as she answers the door. "Come in, please."

She closes her eyes and hopes she can just take a quick nap.

"Miss Farron?" _That_ voice speaks up behind her and she jumps, unsheathing the gunblade in under a second and pointing the tip of it at his nose. Hope Estheim is standing in front of her in the flesh, sweat on his brow and dark circles under his eyes, and he's holding a huge package. "I, uh, wanted to apologize. I'm so sorry for what I did to you the other day. But I wanted you to have this."

She stares at him as if he's crazy. "What?" Serah has apparently already fled the room. "Why - "

"A gunblade," he says quietly, still catching his breath. "Fresh from the lab. But it's not a prototype anymore. I've added a few more things, to take into consideration how your movements change when you're anxious. But I just want you to have it. Because I don't want you to get hurt anymore protecting children from monsters."

She studies him. This time, he looks almost like a child, simply wanting to please. There's an idealism in his eyes that she wants to punch out even as she wants to hold it in her raw palms. "That injury never happened."

Frustration enters his face now exactly where she thought it would. "But - "

"Thank you," she says, and extends a hand out. He stares at her for a long time before taking it. "And my apologies to you, too. Let's go find a shooting range."


	3. Keep it Safe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Always wanted to write 1) Hoperai on a road trip while Hope was sick and 2) the two of them on a tropical vacation but
> 
> This demands a longer fic that isn't quite what I have in mind for my post LR Hoperai fic so into TULP it goes

Claire Farron has never been a fan of driving.

There’s something about it that feels sluggish, superficial: everything is simply set up, from the music streaming out of the speakers to the processed air cooling her face. She can’t feel the world that is speeding by, the slightly sweet smell of the rainforest air or the unforgiving rays of the scorching sun. She can’t even feel her own weight pressing down on it all, or sense the person right behind her, or –

“You _can_ let me drive, you know,” a drowsy voice rises from the back row. “It won’t kill me or anything.”

“ _Go to sleep_ , Hope.”

“I don’t trust you to drive.” Even through his illness-stricken voice, she can still hear his grin. “You are always so skittish when you have to sit behind the wheel.”

“It’s not my fault that I have to live with a downgrade.”

“We can always go riding again.” He promises, yet she hears _his_ apprehension now, the boyish nervousness she’s so familiar with again creeping in. “The next time we’re invited to some fancy country estate –”

“Don’t your sponsors always bristle at me?” Hope and his wealthy female patrons. She never sees him on the covers of tabloids – he’s too smart for that, and unlike her, his work does not require any kind of publicity – yet there’s always that lingering suspicion at the back of her mind, that tiny bit of insecurity due to just how ridiculously _smooth_ and at ease he always seems to be around the rich and beautiful. _We’ve been over this_ , she scolds herself, accelerating the car in her shame. Hope’s proven himself in front of God and eternity. _He has more right to question me than the other way around._ “I mean –”

“You are my baseline condition,” he drawls out smugly, apparently not affected at all. “As long as you want to go to those kind of events –” okay, not quite the way she thought he’d be affected – “we’ll make it work.”

“I always want to spend more time with you, Hope. You can spoil me whenever you want.” She tries to keep it light, sincere. “Now _sleep_.”

“Don’t you need me to sign us in –”

“I’ll wake you up. Do you _really_ want Fang to make fun of how sick you are?”

 

She spots the neon lights of the hotel, turns into the driveway, but swerves the vehicle towards the parking lot instead of the entrance lobby. Leave the music and the AC on: Hope’s still sleeping at the back, and she doesn’t _actually_ intend to wake him up anytime soon.

It’s been a while – a thousand years, probably – since she’s last seen him sleep. He had been a boy then, all fear and hate and raw magic that just wouldn’t hit, and she had just decided to not leave him to die. They became devoted to each other – only got this far because they trusted in each other – and now…

 _I wish you wouldn’t get sick so easily_ , she thinks sourly, and searches the door on her side for an unopened bottle of water.

He looks happy, at least. Happy to be around her. It hadn’t always looked that way – he had been a mess when they first found each other again, a lot of apologies and hugs and mumbling that just didn’t make sense, but she’d told him that she cared for him, that she wanted him to be happy, and that she would like to be with him. Most things had fallen into place gradually since then – he’d reached for her hand and they’d gone on dates together and she’d attended every big lecture he had given to sold out crowds despite not understanding a single thing, but…

 _But there are still some small things that we’re hiding from each other_ , she notes bitterly, watching the faint flushed hue of his face and the thinness of his form underneath his impeccable clothing. _We still don’t know what makes both of us hurt when we are alone._

She’s asked Snow, on the phone. _Does Hope get sick a lot in general? Have you ever taken care of him when he has the flu? Should I take him to the hospital?_ She realized the stupidity of that last question when it left her lips, but no matter: Serah was apparently listening in and covered that for her husband. _Just meds and rest, got it. Yeah, yeah. Fang’s going to yell at him but she won’t force anything. She has a heart._

 _I’m really not built for this_ , comes the rueful thought, as she reaches backwards to place another cushion under his elbow. _This is my worst weakness: trying to take care of another human being. I really don’t know how Serah found it within herself to forgive me._

_But if I want to really be in his life, I would have to try, right?_

 

“You didn’t wake me up,” he accuses drowsily, covering his face with his left hand as he tries to take the water bottle with his right. “did you just –”

“I replied to all of my e-mails.” There weren’t too many of them. “Looked up the local pharmacies. Changed into my dress –”

“You changed _in the car_?”

“Hope, please. You of all people have no right to comment on where and how I change garbs.”

He sighs, a slightly wistful sound, and she wonders if she’s said something wrong in the attempt to banter. His eyes linger on her for an instant, searching for something she can’t quite place. Is he reminded of anything? Does he see something she doesn’t? “You look beautiful.” A pause, and then: “take a picture and send it to Serah.”

“You know she follows my work account like a hawk anyway.”

“I know, but she’d appreciate it if you take one specifically for her. Bonus points if you smile or do something silly. You know she’s all about that.”

He’s right, and she blinks at the realization, just a little unsettled at how he seemed to know her sister more than herself – _but he knew her during the time in Valhalla, he spent centuries of his life trying to read and manipulate people, he had talked about her with Snow_. Dwelling on her failings is not going to help. All she can and should do now is to listen and learn. “You’re right. Why don’t we do that after we check in?”

Hope groans, the picture of helplessness. “How far away is the entrance?”

“Do you need me to carry you?”

That gets a real laugh out of him, and a hand that holds onto her hand tightly as she opens the door. “As I said, it’s not going to kill me or anything.”

“Vanille would probably _actually_ ask Fang to carry you.”

“Please save me. I don’t think Fang would care to be gentle.”

She leads him to the front, passes him all the travel documents, as he smiles and reads over all the flyers and instructions. She’s promised him that he can pick out everything – the opening would just take a day, after all, and they’ve made plans to stick around for a week – and he’s picked out this particular resort, here right by the tropical sea. _There are things I want to tell you_ , he’d messaged her before they met up at the airport, and when she’s asked him about it on the flight, he had smiled and said _soon_.

But what? Why use this opportunity to come here for a whole week? Insist on not canceling even after catching a terrible cold? She watches him, the polite way with which he speaks, the warmth in his eyes. _Don’t tell me… he wants to propose._

For some reason, she’s quite certain that’s not what he has in mind.

 


End file.
